Musings of the Ill
by sheerWonder
Summary: Touya is sick. YukiTouya


  
He was not sick.

All his life, Touya had immunity; a measure of protection against the affliction that might weaken and bring down even the best of men. But he had forgotten (for the other lesser repercussions were of so little importance, considering) that he'd given away a part of his soul, and was no longer immune. So even though his world was spinning, even though his insides felt decidedly different (fuzzy and too warm, and either too full or too empty), Touya decided that he wasn't sick.

He stumbled through his morning ritual, purposely not looking at his own reflection in the mirror. He didn't need to watch himself to know, subconsciously, the truth of certain matters.

The aroma of an appetizing breakfast greeted him as he slumped down the stairs. How odd --- of course; Sakura had been waking up early more often than not these days. Due, in fact, to Li (note that he had been promoted from Chinese-Brat, to That-Li-kid, to Li). In fact, there were times when he quite suddenly realized that his little sister was growing up, beautifully, and Li was helping her blossom. Not that he was going to admit it, out loud or no; It was better for him, and Li (damn brat was going to have to EARN his place next to Sakura). And it wasn't denial, not quite, not when part of him knew and accepted the truth (and not-quite-smirked at him, oh-so-sweetly, smile gleaming angel-white, whenever an occasion arose).

Too bad for you, his sister's pancakes taunted him as they assaulted his sense of smell, and his stomach rolled, his vision swam and blurred. It felt like sea-sickness (when one was lost in endless open space, helpless except to tumble with tide and time), or vertigo (where does one turn to, when the world is changing and gravity shifting, and everywhere you looked seemed like a fall into the unknown), and it was obvious that he would be skipping breakfast today. They would have been sweet, he thought with regret, they would have been delightful, had he been in the right state of mind (and stomach) to enjoy them. She had skill with pancakes; she had received it from Li, and returned the favour often with equal and mutual pleasure. Tried to teach Yuki too, but somehow, he never quite learnt. Touya would bring the syrup-sweet and substantial delicacies to Yuki whenever he could; gifts easily and habitually given, that filled a place with the scent of a warm breakfast and of home.

Well, no breakfast for him today. He refused to ponder why; no time for idle thoughts, Yuki needed a lift to school.

His bike seemed to be going much faster than usual. Ever mindful of the speed limit, he slowed his bike down. Funny, it didn't seem to make a difference. Perhaps he was going down a slope (was it gentle or steep? Would it simply be a more exciting journey, or would he speed down, out of control, in danger of crashing and breaking?), though he didn't remember a slope on this road, between his house and Yuki's. And he should know, seeing as he fetched Yuki to school every day. The landscape was changing on him. It wasn't fair.

His mind buzzed, and his thoughts felt unclear, gray at the edges. But he ignored it. He was never sick, the voice of habit reminded him, albeit a little half-heartedly.

Yuki was waiting outside his house, as always. But instead of the routine smile and good-morning, Yukito was frowning; how odd. The Yuki he knew never frowned. Was the world turning upside-down? And good lord, was he thinking in poetry?

There were things he wanted to say; about lateness and the distance still ahead of them, about getting on behind him (next to him? In front of him? His sense of direction was skewed somehow), but his words were cut off when Yukito approached him and put a cool hand to his forehead (and since when were Yuki's hands anything but unchangingly warm?). He sighed (and who was he?).

"I'm not getting on; you're getting off. You're burning up, To-ya." He was being reproached. It felt unreal, for the boy who smiled too-easily at him, too-often, never ever reproached; it was as though Yuki was finally saying the words that he should always have said; real, human words, that had always been somehow lost between heart and head (but he'd be finding them, lately, getting them back one at a time in jig-saw pieces).

"m'not. Besides, how're you getting to school then? It's far, there's not enough time."

"There is, if I don't leave you. Because you're not going anywhere except inside in this condition. I'm amazed you even got here safely." Yuki's voice carried an undertone of quiet, new but not strange, for it was still his voice, the voice Touya listened too with absolute trust.

(He realized that he'd forgotten to bring the pancakes over. Oh well, there was always next time.)

And Touya noticed that Yuki was changing, without really changing. The constant cheer that was always a part of him gave way sometimes to a gentle calm and temperance, so easily, like it had been a part of him all the time, and perhaps it had been. The ease and peace that Yuki held with the world, now sometimes frayed, and that was alright too, because every being needed a shadow, and Yuki… didn't always have one? That couldn't be right. His mind was swirling, swirling, like an abstract painting rotating before his eyes.

You've taken ill, his subconscious informed his conscious mind, blurrily, and his conscious mind accepted the fact with a resigned sigh.

Without being quite sure how he got there, Touya was jerked out of his half-delirious musings when he was unceremoniously dumped on Yuki's bed. He bounced a bit, and felt like heaving.

"Yuki..." _Please…_ He wasn't above begging when everything was spinning and shifting this way, making him dizzy and unsure. But he couldn't seem to get the words out of his dry, scratchy throat.

"That, To-ya, was for coming all the way here despite having a fever. You could have just called." There was worry in Yukito's voice, and Touya was sorry for having put it there. And he said so.

Yukito smiled, at last, but it was an understanding smile, that said that he knew he wasn't sorry at all; and Touya, reading the message through sore eyes, was glad, because in a way, he wasn't.

A basin of cool water and a cloth suddenly appeared beside him, along with a thermometer. Quickly, efficiently, as though he had a lifetime of practice, he stuck the thermometer gently under his heavy tongue, and started to dab at his forehead with the cool cloth.

"39. Yup, definitely a fever." Yuki read off the thermometer absently, as though he, too, wasn't quite paying attention. Then he nodded, as though he'd come to some decision. Then… an expanse of feathers, and soft light bloomed; there was a resonation within him, an absent response from where his magic used to be (oh there you are, I wondered where you went. No, no, it's alright, stay there, it's good if you're just right there).

Then it was Yue who was standing in front of him, not Yuki. But Yue WAS Yuki, and...

Yue knelt down beside him, saying nothing. He removed the cloth on his forehead and placed his hands there instead, hands that felt as cool as Yuki's. Magic flowed between them, and Touya at once felt drowsy. His heart beat, his soul murmured; magic shared was a special thing, and a body could never quite let go.

"Sleep..." _Yes,_ he replied silently, _I trust this voice, I trust you._ The low whisper was warmly spoken, warmer than the last time he'd heard Yue speak. Yue was changing; but he knew that already, though he'd only just realized. It all added up somehow.

Touya's vision blurred, and for a moment, Yue and Yuki's faces blurred into one, with Yuki's warm, warm eyes, Yue's wings, and a face that held angles of calm and tenderness, and a soft, familiar smile. Knowledge, balanced with emotion. New memories and old memories, false memories and real memories. And, and…

Touya unconsciously smiled back, wider now, and felt a warm hand covering his own. Except it was cool, too? Was that just his illness, toying with his perception of the world? Or a passing breeze? Or…

Did it matter?

And Touya slept. 


End file.
